The Book Scene
by sudoku.addict
Summary: [The Remains of the Day] Ahh the infamous book scene. I only recently discovered this gem of a movie and felt compelled to rewrite the everfrustrating book scene.


**Remains of the Day**

I do believe that this is the most frustrating story ever filmed. If you've yet to see this heart-wrenching tale of love and loyalty, I highly suggest that you ascertain the location of the nearest video store. It is not often that a film strikes such a chord within one's heart; I am please to inform you that this is one such film. The film is absolutely perfect as it stands and I commend the screenwriter Ruth Jhabvala and producing team of Merchant and Ivory for crafting a masterpiece of such magnitude. It has been a full twenty four hours since I last watched this film and I am still thinking about it. Accolades must also be piled upon the inspired pairing of Hopkins and Thompson in the lead roles. Without them, I fear I would have found the film much duller than presently. This was, in all aspects, a perfect film. Please do yourself a favor and watch it.

Anyway, enough ranting, the romantic in me screams that I absolutely MUST rewrite that infamous "Book Scene".

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"Flowers, Mr. Stevens."

The curtains were drawn in the dark room. It was a sleepy mid-afternoon and Mr. Stevens was just enjoying a nice book when he dozed off into a comfortable sleep. He suddenly jerked awake at the intrusion, slightly annoyed that he had been caught off-guard.

"What?"

"Flowers."

Ms. Kenton smiled warmly at him, "Are you reading? It's very dim in here. Can you see?"

"Yes, thank you." Stevens felt a slight pang of annoyance. Ms. Kenton was perpetually coming in his room, without knocking mind you, to put silly wildflowers to 'brighten up the atmosphere' as she put it. Though he had to admit he enjoyed her company, the years of professional service had taught him that such behavior was strictly inappropriate, no matter how caring and tender a person she was. It was his private time, a time for self-reflection and reading, not of gazing at flowers like some loony.

He looked up; she was still there.

"What are you reading?" Her voice sounded somehow different, more girlish perhaps.

Stevens dismissed the notion and replied, "A book."

"Yes but what sort of book?" A toying grin spread across her face as she regarded him like a young schoolboy.

"Just a book, Ms. Kenton, a book." Really now, can't a man have some secrets? Must she really know everything about him?

His restraint seemed to have only piqued her interest even more. She suddenly reached across him toward the book he clutched tightly in his hand.

"What book? Let me see your book."

Stevens held the book out of her reach and stood, retreating behind his desk. Undeterred, Ms. Kenton followed him, pursuing him almost, as a hunter chases his prey.

"What's in that book? Come on, let me see it." She stepped haltingly towards him, each step bringing her nearer and nearer.

Stevens backed away, coming to a stop only when bumping against his back wall and bookshelf. "Please, Ms. Kenton, leave me alone. You are invading my private time."

Far from the desired effect, this words only seemed to rally the young woman and raise her curiosity even more.

"Oh I'm invading your private time, is that what I'm doing? What's in that book? Or are you trying to protect me, is that what you're doing?"

She stepped closer.

"Would it shock me? Would it ruin my character?"

Closer.

They were now not two feet apart, nearer than any two people in a strictly professional relationship ought to be. Stevens watched her, never taking his eyes from her face, book still clutched defensively to his chest. He was cornered, there was no where for him to go. Then, her hands suddenly shot upward and closed around his, prising his fingers away from the book.

She was so close. He could count her eyelashes, the entrancing patterns in her eyes, her mouth curving upward in a demur smile. His eyes bore into her as though performing a human x-ray, flickering from her eyes to her mouth to her hair. His elbow rested on the nearby bookshelf, hand raised and very near to her hair. They were inches apart now. Her thin fingers struggling against his stronger ones. One finger came loose, and then another, and another -

"Oh dear, it's not scandalous at all, just a sentimental old love story." She looked up and found a look of such intensity in his eyes that she could not look away.

As though in a trance, Stevens moved his nearby hand, the one so close to her hair, nearer and nearer to her face, finally touching her lips with two fingers. He then transferred these same fingers the short distance to his own lips with the same slow measured movements. Ms. Kenton gasped, the book slipping from her fingers, as she leaned forward...forward...more...more...

At long last, their lips made contact, first gently, then with a passion that burst forth from years of unrequited love. His hands encircled her waist and hugged her tightly to him, her arms entwined his neck as their mouths moved furiously in a dance. They broke apart. Neither spoke a word, for they both seemed to share a tacit agreement about their unique love. She flashed a happy smile at him, happier than anything he'd ever seen, and turned, picking up a tray from his desk, and left.

Stevens stayed quite still, finally leaning down slowly to pick up the dropped book. He smiled fondly at the tattered little cover and resumed his reading, his heart lighter than it had been in a very long time.


End file.
